


Moving Day

by miraworos



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: And The Wine Stole It, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Either Way It Turns Out Alright, Ineffable Con 2, M/M, Miscommunication Fic, Moral Support Wine, Or Perhaps Missed Communication Fic, There Was Only One Brain Cell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27103744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/pseuds/miraworos
Summary: Crowley arrives at the bookshop one morning to find Aziraphale knee-deep in a going-out-of-business sale, and panics.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 159
Collections: The Ineffable Con 2





	Moving Day

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of fluff I contributed to the Ineffable Con 2 Zine. :-) Immeasurable thanks (as always) to the fantabulous [Z A Dusk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeandmoon/works) for their insightful beta. <333

Anthony J. Crowley was a lot of things—flash bastard, menace to society, and devilishly good looking, to name a few—but one thing he most certainly was  _ not _ was in love with an angel. This is what he told himself every morning when he assessed his reflection in the mirror before driving the Bentley to one such angel’s bookshop. It’s what he told himself whilst  _ not _ staring longingly at said angel’s back while he shelved books. And it’s what he told himself before leaving again at night, pleasantly sloshed enough to actually make himself leave but not  _ so  _ sloshed that he couldn’t miracle himself and the Bentley safely home.

He was clever. He was observant. He was generous, when he wanted to be. He was  _ not _ in love.

In fact, the box of platonic chocolates and the dispassionate bouquet of deep-red roses and the companionable bottle of Chateau Calon-Ségur Grand Vin all served as further evidence that— 

Alright,  _ fine _ . Crowley was in fucking love with his best friend, and there was nothing he could do about it. He’d tried the Ritz. He’d tried the picnic. He’d even tried  _ Hamlet _ at the Royal Shakespeare Company, all for naught. He simply couldn’t say the words.

Once it had almost come out, but then it had all gotten garbled with some sort of rubbish about retirement communities and varieties of local soil substrate. By the end, he hadn’t been sure that he and Aziraphale had been on the same hemisphere, let alone the same page. 

Conversations went that way with the angel sometimes. For the most part, either by random luck or maybe six thousand years of knowing each other, they understood one another without saying a word. But other times, their wires inexorably crossed and neither had any clue what the other was saying.

In any case, he’d resolved to try again. Today. At the bookshop. Which is where he should have tried to do it in the first place, after that tiny, wee apocalypse that sort of…fizzled. The chocolates and flowers were for the angel. The wine was for moral support.

But when Crowley rounded the corner to park in his accustomed spot, he was confronted by a scene of unremitting pandemonium. The only time he’d seen anywhere near this level of chaos around the bookshop was when...nope, better not to think of it.

“What the holiness is going on?” Crowley swore, as he swung out of the Bentley. “Oi! Angel! What’s this all about?”

“Oh, my dear boy, I am  _ so  _ glad you’re here,” Aziraphale said, wringing his hands. He stood amidst throngs of people, surrounded by cartons of books, his ridiculous spectacles slightly askew on his beautiful nose. He was wearing his cardigan. Outside. And he looked particularly vexed.

“Are you…” Crowley’s stomach sank, as he ripped off his sunglasses. “Are you  _ selling _ your  _ book collection? _ ”

“No, no, of course not,” Aziraphale said. “Just the vast majority of it.”

“Ngk…ur…b-but  _ why? _ ”

“Well, because it won’t fit, obviously.”

“Won’t fit  _ where _ , angel? The Bentley?”

Aziraphale frowned at him. “The moving van, you silly serpent. It will be here in forty-eight hours, you know. And I simply cannot relocate an entire shop’s worth of books in it.”

“You’re… you’re moving?”

This was going to be one of those conversations, then. And he’d left the damn wine in the car. 

Aziraphale looked ruffled. “We talked about this, dear boy. At length.”

“When? When did we talk about this?”

“Oh, really, Crowley. Over drinks at the Araki, just round the corner from yours.”

“We’ve been to the Araki three times this month. When exactly did we have this conversation?”

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Aziraphale said. “Six months, I should think.”

“Six  _ months? _ Angel, if I’d known for six months, don’t you think I might have … y’know .. mentioned it?”

“I assumed you were just not terribly interested in the logistics, dear.”

“The logi— The  _ logistics? _ You realize you’re being absolutely ridiculous. This cannot happen,” he snapped, yanking a musty, crackling book out of some octogenarian’s hands. “Move on, mate. Sale’s over.” Then to the larger gathering he shouted, “Oi! Geroff, the lot of you! We’re closed!”

With a good deal of mumbling and unfriendly glares, most of the people obeyed his directive. He had to flash full snake-head to scare off the witchy teenage girls, who looked rather more excited by the display than frightened. Bloody humans.

“You…you want me to stay in London?” Aziraphale said, fidgeting with the edge of his cardigan and looking, of all things, brokenhearted.

“Of course I want you to stay in London! Why wouldn’t I want you to stay in London?”

“Well, it’s just… You  _ had _ said that, um, you wanted roots, you know. And…well, I…I thought that you meant…”

“Spit it  _ out _ , angel.”

Aziraphale drew himself up to his full height, which was an inch or two shorter than Crowley but still somehow managed to cow the demon. He hated it when Aziraphale straightened his spine like that. Meant he was gearing up to be insufferably stubborn. And what was that hurt expression on his face about?  _ He _ was the one leaving Crowley, not the other way around.

“I thought you wanted to move out to the country. I  _ thought _ you wanted me to go with you. That’s what you  _ said _ , after all.”

Crowley gaped at Aziraphale as if all his angelic heads were visible right there on the street. “I never said that, angel. I’d have remembered, you know, saying I wanted to  _ move to the damn country with you. _ ”

The angel’s lower lip wobbled. “I do apologize for the misunderstanding then. I shall notify the solicitor at once to cancel the contract on the country house.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. You…bought us a  _ house? _ ”

“Not  _ just  _ a house, Crowley. A cottage. With a conservatory and a garden. Don’t you remember? We talked extensively about the ideal soil composition for some plant or other that you just had to cultivate. Really, my dear, it was an hours’ long conversation.” The angel paused to take a breath and remove his glasses. “I thought we had come to an arrangement.”

_ Fuck _ . Was that what that conversation had been about? How had he missed that? How had he  _ accidentally _ asked Aziraphale to move in with him, and then  _ forgotten about it? _

“Well, never mind,” Aziraphale said, taking a step back from Crowley. “I will just…”

Crowley leapt forward, folding Aziraphale into his arms so he couldn’t leave.

“Of course I’ll move in with you, you blasted angel. I just didn’t know— You never said— How drunk was I? Don’t answer that!” Then he shoved Aziraphale back at arms’ length, clutching his shoulders. “What does this mean? Does this mean—? Because I very much want it to—”

“Darling, this is what got us into this mess in the first place. Be explicit.”

But all words had suddenly left Crowley, so the only thing to do was to show him. Not with platonic chocolates or companionable wine, but with a mind-melting, full-bodied, impossible-to-misinterpret kiss.

“Oh, my,” Aziraphale said with a smile when they finally pulled apart. “Not that I’m complaining, dear, but I thought we agreed to wait until after the ceremony.”

Crowley’s heart stopped. “The what?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! And if you enjoyed it, be sure to check out the other amazing fics in the Ineffable Con 2 Zine collection!


End file.
